Arrivals and Departures
by bonvieuxtemps
Summary: No matter how short and rare they might seem, the knowledge that there will be happy moments is still better than the alternative. Emily/JJ; JJ/Will.


Pairing: Emily/JJ; JJ/ Will

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.

Author's note: Not beta-ed, so all mistakes are my own. The outcome of a boring maths class.

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He rolled out of bed, and I couldn't help but compare, it was far from like she did. Unlike her, there are no traces of me on him. Not a single fluid; or even a scent that showed he was the one to officially frequent my bed. Everyone believed it, except for us.

It didn't take him long to go with his Saturday routine. He took his shower and fixed himself breakfast. God knew it had been long since I woke up to fix breakfast. Especially to fix him breakfast. He didn't stay long in his son's room. There was nothing left to say anyway. He picked up his bag and wrote a note. I didn't have to read to know it said "I'm going back home visit the family. Be back on Monday" Every week I hoped he wouldn't. He always did though. He'll knock on the door to his own house exactly half past six o'clock Monday morning.

I remember the sound of her laughter when I told her that. I wasn't surprised when she did it; she always basked in every "victory", no matter how many times I told her it wasn't a competition. Well, it was, but she never realized she had won long ago. Maybe she didn't want to. This double life that's been killing me made her feel safe. I guess being the lover was far less terrorizing than being the wife and mother. She said she liked her freedom, but I know her supposed freedom consists of work and hanging with the boys, drinking beer and talking about work. That way she tricked herself into believing her life was just like before, her beloved independence intact.

From our bed I heard the opening of the door and the sound of keys being put on the bowl, followed by bag and shoes being put near the door. She moved smoothly through the house and walked quietly into our son's room. I stopped staring at the ceiling and quickly pretended to be asleep as she finally opened the door and slipped into our bed. I felt her smile on my back, aware that I was faking, like she knew why I was faking. She loved knowing how much I loved being woken up by her. She kissed my shoulder, my neck, my ear, my cheeks, my nose and when she kissed my chin I could no longer contain my smile. I opened my eyes and saw her smiling brightly back at me, and I didn't have the strength to be mad at her. How could I?

She called me beautiful, and I smiled even brighter, because I believed when she said it. She asked me how I was feeling and how was my week, as if we hadn't seen each other every day at work. She looked me in the eyes, barely blinking, as she listened to my words. She laughed of the funny stories and held my hand when she knew something bothered me. I was so quickly entranced by her presence I never got the chance to tell her how much we missed her.

I groaned when she remembered our little boy would be waking up in a few and that he had asked for pancakes the week before. She didn't think I was needy when I grabbed her by the waist and told her there was no way she was leaving me in bed like that and that he was a very well fed boy and wouldn't starve if she spent another ten minutes in bed. She made fun of me jokingly, but she spent the ten minutes and another ten. She stayed until we heard him running out of his bedroom and to the kitchen. I giggled against her chest when he whined downstairs and started shouting her name. She just laughed when I pushed her off the bed and reminded her that she had promised him after all.

He was sitting on her shoulders when I walked into the kitchen. She showed him how to prepare his favorite pancakes, and answered all of his questions attentively. I sat on the counter and listened to him explaining all the things he had just been taught. We smiled proudly and laughed at how quickly he shut up when she put the plates on the counter. I couldn't blame him; she's a very good cook.

He told her about his week and she listened intently, much like she had done to me before. I saw her beam with pride when he told her how well he had done in his math test, the one she had helped him study the previous week. I told them to go play while I did the dishes and like always they winded up lying on the grass, Henry asking for more stories of her childhood. He was the only one who didn't get an evasive reaction when asking of those times. He never got as much as the word "no" from her. Luckily for her, he didn't understand yet that he had her wrapped in his finger.

I stood in the corridor and watched as she put him to bed. He told me once that he spends all week looking forward to those Sunday nights. I didn't know how she managed to bring him a different adventure every week; all the famous ones having been read long ago. I knew one thing, though; they got longer every week.

She still left, but not before lying down in bed and reminding us of how we really feel for one another. Between those four walls there was no trace of the coworkers-friends status that graced most of our days. We made love all night until the notions of time and space were a blur inside my head and I forgot everything but her presence.

Like every Monday morning, there was no sight of her when I opened my eyes. There was only the welcomed soreness in my body and the aroma of sex in the room that was impossible not to notice. Yet, he pretended not to notice it every time he walked into the room after knocking and waiting for his own house's door to be opened.

Yeah, I'd probably find that funny too… if it didn't make me this sad.


End file.
